


Of Wolves and Foxes

by dandelionslute



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M, creature!Jaskier, kitsune!jaskier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23589988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionslute/pseuds/dandelionslute
Summary: Written for a tumblr prompt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 266





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tumblr prompt.

Geralt meets a bard.

Let’s rephrase that. 

Geralt meets a very energetic, mildly annoying, happy go lucky bard. 

No. Geralt meets a very energetic, mildly annoying, happy go lucky bard who wants to _follow him across the continent_ and write poems and ballads about him.

“Aren’t ballads love songs?” Geralt asks with a raised eyebrow, and watches a pink blush crawl up the bard’s neck and bloom across his pale cheeks.

“Not necessarily,” the bard stammers, fiddling with his fingers. “Technically a ballad is determined by its stanzas-”

“No.” Geralt answers firmly, shaking his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

Jaskier’s heard that line his entire life.

-

_“The world is unsafe, Julian. People are cruel. You’re safe here, with your people.” A gentle brush of his mother’s thumb down his cheek both comforts and frustrates him.  
_

_“But mother, safe is boring.” He’s just a boy still, but already, his bones ache restlessly beneath his flesh and his feet itch to feel hard dirt crack beneath them. His soul yearns to find out what destiny has planned for him._

_“And boring keeps you alive,” his father grumbles. “You’re not going anywhere.”_

-

“You don’t want to revamp your reputation, Butcher?” Maybe he shouldn’t have said it, but the man smells like death and destiny, and he’s not just about to let that slip from his grasp.

He left his home to find adventure, and the world had presented it to him in the form of a white haired Witcher carrying two very big, very scary looking swords.

Geralt glares at him. “I don’t care for reputations. People dislike me regardless.”

“Maybe not if they heard epic stories about your heroics!”

“Fuck off, bard.”

Jaskier frowns and watches him leave. He wasn’t used to people rejecting him. This isn’t what he had expected at all. His fingers find the opalescent gem in his pocket, and he decides to make his own destiny.

-

Geralt feels it lurking behind the tree line as he travels. His amulet hums and gently vibrates where it lays against his chest, tucked beneath his shirt. He feels a presence shadowing him, just out of reach, out of sight. 

Every now and then his head whips to the forest, his eyes searching for the flash of gold he’s sure he’s just seen; seeking out the sound of the gentle pattering of paws against the earth; searching for the source of the smell that drifts across the wind and catches in his nose. Not a sweet smell, but not a particularly unpleasant one either. It was one that reminded him of winters in Kaer Morhen, surrounded by wild forest and wolves, fire and smoke.

Roach seems less receptive to the smell, and snorts and flicks her tail.

“It’s okay,” Geralt soothes her, a firm hand against her neck as they walk slowly towards Vizima. “You’re safe with me.”

He’s wary for the first week or so, keeping his sword close at night in case of an ambush, never fully resting. But another week passes and Geralt comes to recognise the presence as a friendly one. Perhaps shy, curious, a little sneaky, even - but not hostile. He’s been a Witcher long enough to sense the aura of monsters, and this - this was no monster.

And as he walks, he becomes ~~fond of~~ accustomed to the presence that lingers just behind him. He begins to seek it out in the mornings when he rises; makes sure he can feel it close by when he slips into his bedroll each night. And as he becomes quite comfortable with the presence that follows him, it suddenly disappears.

-

“Geralt!”

It’s the bard.

“Bard?” Geralt asks with surprise as he turns and his eyes land on the man.

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Jaskier corrects him, looking Geralt up and down. “You look awful.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Jaskier simply shakes the lute he’s holding in his hand. “I’m a travelling bard.” 

“Hmm,” Geralt hums and nods gently, taking his ale from the bar and walking past Jaskier to seat himself at a table away from the rabble of the tavern. Jaskier just bounces after him and sits himself down too.

“Fight any monsters lately?” Jaskier prods, and Geralt says nothing. Instead, he watches two men fist fight by the bar and a very _well travelled_ prostitute spill wine down the front of her dress and subsequently throw the goblet across the room. It even makes Geralt uncomfortable.

He turns back to Jaskier with a grimace. “The Fox?”

Jaskier feels the colour drain from his face and his throat tightens, his heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears. “What?”

“Why would you play at The Fox?” Geralt says, tipping his head in the direction of the rowdy crowd. “It’s not exactly a reputable establishment. Not one I’d expect to find you in, anyway.”

Jaskier exhales a breath of relief and laughs nervously. “Oh. Yes, right, The Fox, this tavern, right. _Wait_ \- what do you mean, not expect to find _me_ in?”

Geralt makes a point of looking at the puffy sleeves of Jaskier’s blue and purple doublet, and unless Jaskier’s mistaken, he smirks.

Jaskier puffs out his chest. “Well sorry for not sauntering in here wearing black leather and - is that _blood_ , Geralt?” he points at the dried _something_ on Geralt’s armour, and Geralt just shrugs.

They sit in silence for a few moments before Jaskier practically bubbles over and asks excitedly, “Can I come with you?” and Geralt just shakes his head and says, “No.”

Jaskier frowns, and Geralt looks off into the fireplace and breathes in the smoke smell.

-

Geralt leaves the next morning, headed west through Temeria to Dorian, and it doesn’t take long before his skin prickles and he picks up the presence of the _whatever it is_ that’s following him.

“Hello,” he says quietly, eyes panning the surroundings around him. He sees nothing. “Okay, keep hiding,” he murmurs, patting Roach’s neck as she makes a cautious sound. “I won’t hurt you.”

-

“You really should stop following me.”

Geralt hears the familiar voice approach him from behind, and quickly rolls his eyes before turning around slowly.

“Perhaps it is _you_ following _me_ ,” Geralt replies, and if he notices Jaskier's breath catch and eyes widen in a quick moment, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Please,” Jaskier scoffs dismissively, casually leaning his back against the bar and crossing his arms. “I know when I’m not welcome.”

Geralt knows the feeling. Maybe that’s why he buys Jaskier an ale and doesn’t protest when the bard follows and sits down with him.

“You know,” Geralt starts, piquing Jaskier’s interest instantly and the bard watches him with bated breath as Geralt takes a long, slow drink. “I killed a kikimora on my way over here.”

He’s not sure why he throws the bard the bone. Perhaps its the way his bright blue eyes stare so strong into his own. The way he looks at Geralt like a friend and not a foe.

Jaskier’s eyes light up and he leans in closer across the table with an excited smile. “Oh, tell me more! How big was it?”

“Twelve feet across, at least...”

-

“I don’t care - I’m not staying here any longer! There’s a whole world out there waiting for me! I need to find my destiny!”

“ _Destiny_?” his father laughs. “Ha! No such thing. And if there is, it’s here, with your _family_.”

Jaskier clenches his fists and breaths sharp and deep, anger boiling through his blood. “What’s the point in being magical, immortal, guardian beings if we aren’t allowed to go out and make any use of it! You say we’re all powerful and yet you live here like _domesticated dogs_ rather than use the kitsune for good!”

He’s fuming, trying to hold it together as he glares at his father, his mother standing to the side and watching them fight. He doesn’t understand why he’s being caged like an animal when every fibre of his being tells him to be free.

“You don’t _use_ the kitsune - you _are_ kitsune! You’re not human, Julian,” the words spit like an insult. “You’re a _fox_. You take the shape of a human because they’d _destroy you_ if they found out the truth!”

Jaskier takes a deep breath and his fists unravel into loosened hands. He stares his father down for a few more moments before shifting his gaze to his mother, his eyes turning gentle as she looks at him with worry. “It’s Jaskier,” he murmurs, shaking his head gently. He gives his mother a soft look and tears bead at the corners of her eyes. He turns back to his father. “And you can’t keep me here any longer. Because I can do this.”

And without another word, he slinks down into his fox form and his body disappears, leaving behind a thick ripple in the air and a mother crying for her son.

-

Jaskier’s somewhat surprised when he follows Geralt out of Dorian and Geralt doesn’t protest. He’d grown so used to the Witcher saying no, that when Geralt said “try to keep up”, he’d already started walking away.

“What?” Jaskier asks, eyes blinking, as Geralt packs Roach’s saddlebags.

“Don’t fall behind,” Geralt reiterates slowly, looking sideways at Jaskier.

“I can come with you?”

“I don’t think you’d listen if I said no again.” 

Jaskier’s eyes widen and he strides towards Geralt, beaming. “I promise, I’ll be no trouble,” he says, reaching out his hand to pat Roach’s mane.

“Don’t touch Roach.”

They travel north, towards Rinde, and Geralt contemplates why Jaskier’s presence by his side feels so familiar.


	2. Two

Jaskier asks Geralt to accompany him to a banquet in Cintra before they reach Rinde. His request falls under the guise of protection, but truthfully, he just wants to see Geralt in something other than armour for once.

An angry lord accosts him and Geralt is there before Jaskier can defend himself. He could change his form in an instant, convince the lord he had the wrong man - even disappear completely. But something within him takes great pleasure in Geralt scaring the lord away and looking Jaskier over with a fond smile. 

“You’re on your own, now,” Geralt says, but it’s clearly not true when Jaskier follows him and crawls into the bed beside him that night. Two men, laying in the dark, pretending not to analyse the way the other one breathes.

-

A djinn attacks Jaskier outside of Rinde. A very sexy but insane Witch saves him, which he’s grateful for of course, but the encounter is the beginning of a bond between her and Geralt that has him boiling over with jealousy and frustration.

“She saved your life Jaskier. I can’t let her die.”

Jaskier’s heart is in his throat and he’s furious, upset, alone.

He’s not sure why he watches them through the window when all it does it break his heart more.

-

Jaskier misses the entire dragon incident because nobody thought to wake him up, and when he’s sure Geralt’s nowhere near, he shifts into fox form and races up the mountainside until he sees the Dwarves, where he promptly shifts back into Jaskier.

“Are we queueing for something?” he pants, watching the Dwarves struggle like they’re stuck in mud.

He finds Geralt and the others, and isn’t sure where to look when Yennefer decides to chastise and subsequently dump him - so he stares right at them. He hides the smile of victory that tugs at his lips when she walks away. Borch looks at him with a tilt of his head and Jaskier flushes red.

He’s sure he can lift Geralt’s spirits with a joke, a light quip, and instead, Geralt screams in his face.

“Right. See you around, Geralt.”

-

As soon as Jaskier’s out of view, he shifts into his fox form and he makes quick work traversing down the mountain path, the sharp rocks beneath his paws no trouble at all, following the scent trail that will take him back to tavern they’d started at. He both hopes and hopes not to find Geralt back there too.

He’s caught between absolute rage and defeated desolation. He makes a soft noise, unable to cry, and wonders if maybe he should stay a fox. Maybe being Jaskier was too painful. Maybe the world _was_ too unsafe, too unkind, just like his mother had told him. Maybe he was wrong all along. 

Maybe destiny had nothing planned for him.

But he was a _zenko_ kitsune. He was _supposed_ to be a guardian, a faithful companion. He _longed_ for it. And as the thought of destiny crosses his mind, the string that seems to attach his heart to Geralt’s tugs wildly.

-

Geralt regrets it the minute Jaskier disappears. _Fuck,_ why did he _say_ that?

He pulls himself together and follows the path that Jaskier took, but he can’t find his footprints; can’t smell the bard’s usual scent. There’s no sign of Jaskier travelling down the mountain, and Geralt swallows thickly with the thought that maybe something else found him before he did. 

Panic rises in his chest and if his heart could beat faster, it would. And then he senses it. His amulet vibrates. He smells the fire smoke. He closes his eyes and breathes it in slowly.

“At least you’re still with me,” he says quietly, to nothing in particular. He’s completely alone, without even Roach. But the hidden wisp that seems to flash gold and circle around him hasn’t left yet.

Geralt wants to find it. He wants to know what this is, this feeling around him, this familiar pull on his amulet and calm wave across his soul as he recognises the being nearby. But he’s terrified to chase it, to drive it out of hiding. It’s the only thing keeping him from being _totally_ alone. And so he travels down the mountain, followed by a gentle aura behind him.

-

Jaskier can’t bring himself to leave. Better Geralt assume him dead, and he be able to watch over the Witcher from the shadows, than lose him forever.

-

The longer Geralt goes without finding Jaskier, the more reckless he becomes. He takes contracts far too challenging for him; drinks potions far more often than he needs to, and in greater quantities. They blow his eyes out black and all he can feel is power pumping through his veins; a temporary reprieve from the sadness that usually flows there.

He takes the insults that are hurled his way; he stops sleeping in taverns and warm beds, and settles for cold grass and hard dirt instead. He deserves it, he thinks. He yelled Jaskier away, and now Jaskier was gone. Dead, presumably. Lost to a monster on the mountain. _How could he have let him go on his own?_

He knows he wasn’t made for love. He was, first and foremost, a Witcher. So why did his heart ache nonetheless?

He gets a contract to take down an alghoul outside of White Orchard, and he’s still half drunk when he swallows a dose each of Tawny Owl and Thunderbolt. He’s glad he did when he approaches the crypt and finds not one, but two of them.

They put up a fierce fight, and Geralt manages to take down the first with Yrden and a heaving swing of his silver sword, but he’s not quick enough to block the second one that launches itself at him from the side. It knocks him to the ground, his head smacking into the mud with a violent thud, his head spinning as he tries to scramble back to his feet. He hurries, knowing the alghoul’s next move would be to try and rip open his stomach and eat him alive, but his wrist is limp where he used it to break his fall, and his vision isn’t quite keeping up with his body.

He becomes aware of a gash across his thigh that’s spilling thick blood into the mud beneath him. He throws up his sword, and wonders if perhaps this is it. What was he fighting for, anyway? Yennefer was gone. _Jaskier_ was gone. Maybe this was it for him. Maybe he _doesn’t_ _need_ to fight anymore. And he’s surprised at the wave of peace that crashes over him in that moment. 

And then as if from thin air, a creature like a fox but a little larger in size appears on all fours with a raised back and loud growl, standing between him and the alghoul; snarling and snapping rabidly, waving three golden tails in Geralt’s face. 

It turns around to look at him quickly and Geralt sees the bright blue eyes, inhales the smell of forest pine and smoke, feels the buzzing of his amulet against his chest, and suddenly every little puzzle piece fits.

And Geralt’s world goes black.


End file.
